


A Brush With Life

by 2001DoubleD33



Series: Through Moments Unnoticed, We Say Everything [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Colin - Freeform, Crime, Death, F/M, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Joanlock - Freeform, John - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Murder, Mutilation, Mutilationr, Police, Rape, Sherlock - Freeform, THEY GET TOGETHER IN THIS ONE, complex, gays, kissy, lit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 15:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2001DoubleD33/pseuds/2001DoubleD33
Summary: Skipping to after Sherlock's return, Joan has an outburst that makes even Sherlock blush in shame. He tries to fix it, and finds himself stuck in the middle of a new case.





	A Brush With Life

Joan knew she couldn't expect anything different in the months after Sherlock's fall. After that, all her barriers had shattered in front of him. There'd been screaming matches for days, moments she'd ripped a shirt or papers in order to avoid hitting him, and so many tears. Mrs Hudson had kept to herself in those days, giving them space. Sherlock was quiet unless he was shouting back at her, which only fueled her anger. 

 

Once things had settled down, everything gradually went back to normal. But now, she had another scene for her nightmares. That fall left her in a more distressed state than the previous ones, leaving her pale, shaken...cold. She hated them, but she insisted that she'd be fine without any medication or therapy. Why should she have to depend on that, anyhow?

 

Tonight was one of her worse nights. The dream was a vivid scene with Sherlock and moriarty. Jim had, instead of shooting himself, fired at Joan and she relived the pain she'd felt when she was shot in the shoulder. Sherlock's face had drained of color before he lept off the edge as if he could have caught the bullet, and then Joan couldn't move. She could only watch and scream as he fell.

 

She shot up from the covers in a cold sweat, gripping the sheets. Joan soon recognized the soft, soothing tones of Sherlock downstairs. He was playing a piece from Mozart that she had heard many times before, and the familiar melody had her breathing hitching.

 

She cried that night.

 

She gripped her pillow to her chest and buried her face into it, sobbing quietly, her shoulders heavy with each shuddering breath. The last time she had cried like this was the actual fall. Now...now, she cried because he was here, and she knew it, but she couldn't look at him the same way anymore. Now all Joan thought of when she saw him was the horrid, gut wrenching depression. He need to see him dance about in a sheet, sulk on the couch, screech his violin at Mycroft. Every memory she'd ever had had torn her apart with the realization that she was hopelessly, madly in love with her crazy, high functioning sociopath.

 

Joan had calmed herself just enough to get up and shuffle downstairs, avoiding the second step because she knew it creaked. It was 2 in the morning. 

 

The sight she came down to was familiar. Sherlock had his eyes shut, the violin tucked neatly into position as he dragged the bow across the strings in a beautiful melody. She leaned against the wall silently, watching him with tired, longing eyes. Sherlock paid her no mind and continued playing without care. 

 

That's how he did everything, wasn't it? Without caring? That brought a bitter smile to Joan’s lips. She envied that trait. If only she could just shut off her emotions like he did sometimes. Sherlock's song came to a close soon enough, and Joan dozed against the wall as she listened, still ever silent.

 

It was Sherlock's gentle touch to her cheek that stirred her, opening her eyes.

 

"Go back to bed, Joan." He said softly.

 

Sometime he had finished and Joan missed the end. She simply nodded and looked up at him.

 

" Don't leave again, Sherlock. Don't." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

 

Sherlock shook his head,"Never again."

 

And Joan smiled.

  
  
  


**Chapter Five- Irritability**

  
  


Joan had come home that day after a series of rather out-putting appointments with her patients. With a mother and her daughter coming in from an abusive husband/ father, and three fatal diagnosis’ of varying disease, her day had been stressful and just hellish. When she arrived home, Sherlock was moping about on the couch, furiously texting someone.

 

“You didn’t read my message. Lestrade had a case for us.” He bit out.

 

“Oh, so sorry. I was busy cleaning up a little girl with a busted lip.” Joan hissed, hanging her coat up with sharp, annoyed movements. 

 

She didn’t spare a glance at what Sherlock’s face looked like and instead swept into the kitchen to make tea, pulling up her hair into a messy and lazy bun. She bit back a growl of frustration as a few strands of her hair fell out immediately. After a few moments, she became aware of the eyes on her and turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, observing her quietly. 

 

“What now, Sherlock?” She sighed, turning her attention back to the tea she was making.

 

“Hurry up. We have to meet with Lestrade soon.” He said in reply after a moment of quiet, then his steps sounded as he retreated from the room.

 

Joan grit her teeth as she tried not to snap at him. Bloody cheek. She knew that he must have deduced what a hard day she had been having. But no, it’s always ‘ _ Lestrade wants us there.’  _ or ‘ _ Hurry up- we have to go  _ **_now_ ** _.’  _ or, her favorite,  _ ‘Stop being so obtuse and use your brain, Johanna.’. _ God, he was so obnoxious sometimes.

 

Regardless, she made tea and got only a sip before he was reluctantly dragging her from the flat and back into the cold London air. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying some not-so-nice things, and trudged along beside him to the crime scene, which he insisted was too close to get a cab for. Joan decided she really, really needed a cup of coffee. Preferably with Molly of Mrs Hudson. 

 

The scene brought a more quiet and tense air about it. There lay an 18- year old boy in the middle of the yellow police tape, his neck slashed and the front of his shirt ripped open to display bruises and scrapes. His jeans had also been cut off. He was forced into something Joan didn’t even want to think about. She watched in silence while Sherlock did what he would usually, as if the change in age of the victim meant nothing. This ticked Joan off even further.

 

Still, she stayed quiet and observed him digging through the remains of his pockets and analyzing, reluctantly answering questions Sherlock fired at her. She was suddenly aware of Sally’s hand on the small of her back, making her turn and look up at Donovan with a sheepish smile. Sally’s tight smile was close enough to a grimace to let Joan know they were both uncomfortable.

 

Their little moment was broken with Sherlock’s annoyed exhale.

 

“Lestrade, these cases are excruciatingly simple. It was very obviously a hate crime. The boy was gay. Considering what was in his pockets, he was with someone he had met and decided to go home with. Find the man he was with- Check the bar he came from, since his breath reeks of alcohol- and you find your killer,” Sherlock shook his head,”Honestly, Lestrade. Text me when you find something  _ worth my time _ ,”

 

And Joan had had enough. She had simply had. Enough.

  
  


**Chapter Six- Disputes and Deductions**

  
  


Every eye had gone to Sherlock when he announced his...’ _ deduction’.  _ Joan didn’t care everyone’s attention was on them as her hands clenched at her sides, stomping her foot into the ground and effectively pulling Sherlock’s gaze toward her; right before the storm came rushing forward.

 

“ _ Sherlock Holmes!” _ Her voice shouted, gaining the full attention of Lestrade and the other policemen,”How bloody  _ dare  _ you! This had better be worth every goddamn bit of your time! Do you even realize what you’re  _ saying? _ ”

 

Joan pointed at the body as she continued,”He’s  _ dead _ , Sherlock! For what? For being himself! I  _ know _ you’ve got better sense than to act like its nothing! He’s barely even fourteen and he’s lying on the ground, cold and dead because some bloody bastard offed him for being gay. I’m so sick and tired of how you act like everything is just a simple deduction and a reaction! Well, here’s my reaction, Sherlock! Are you fucking happy?”

 

She moved her hand to stab a finger into his chest, only a brief feeling of guilt crossing her mind when he flinched away the slightest bit.

 

“You know first hand what it’s like to be ridiculed. You know what Harry went through and you know what everyone goes through at some point. How dare you act like it’s so stupid it doesn’t deserve your time.” Her voice had lowered to a steely, angry and dangerous tone that most often brought Sherlock to attention within seconds. He knew when to shut up for her.

 

Joan then became aware of the eyes that trained on her and the faint shake of her head and bitter sting behind her eyes made a clear end to her statement. She turned on a heel and stalked off, brushing quickly past Sally and heading back home to unwind and hopefully- _ hopefully _ -, find the sense in herself to keep from striking the Holmes boy down. 

 

She remembered hearing Sherlock’s voice call after her once, then silence again. She shook her head again and continued on.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It had been nearly three hours and Sherlock still hadn’t come home. Joan had gone out and gotten groceries, busying herself and hoping to evade Sherlock as long as possible. She had been surprised, then relieved when she returned to find no sign of Sherlock. Now she sat in her chair and treated herself to a few of the cookies she’d bought. The sigh that left her lips when her phone buzzed was more out of weariness than annoyance.

 

**_Come to the pub on Adelina Avenue. Need help. Don’t approach me and don’t cause a scene.-SH_ **

 

Joan got up, her package of biscuits falling to the floor as she snapped shut her laptop. With quick steps, she went to her room and dug through her underwear drawer until she found her gun. 

 

**_What kind of help?-JW_ **

 

**_Not a clue yet. Hurry up.-SH_ **

 

That was all Joan needed and then she was out of the flat and hailing a cab, searching for pubs on Adelina. She waited anxiously, her previous anger melted into worry. She stayed calm and ten minutes later slid out of the cab with ease, paid, and walked inside. Her eyes searched for Sherlock as discreetly as she could while she also looked for an empty table. Her gaze landed on Sherlock’s tall form a little ways down the bar and she turned her eyes away again, waiting idly for whatever cue he would give her. 

 

As she observed him, however, she watched the cold, stern demeanor he usually had change into a more loose, drunken and...shy one? Shy, yes, that was the word.

 

He was stirring the small straw in a fruity looking drink, biting his lower lip as he glanced around every now and then. He fidgeted in his chair and crossed and uncrossed his legs. It was only after a man walked up to him that Joan realized what he was doing. 

 

He was setting himself up- baiting the suspect. 

 

Joan could have laughed, but instead she ducked her head and pretended to be reading something on her phone while she kept an eye on them. The new arrival’s smile was very obviously forced, and he seemed uncomfortable in the cheap clothes he wore. It wasn’t ten minutes later that Sherlock was biting his lip and looking at the ground with a timid smile. The man prompted something quietly, and Sherlock eventually nodded and slid off the bar stool. He began following the guy towards the exit, where Joan had entered. She ducked her head and acted bored while they passed.

 

She didn’t miss the snap of Sherlock’s fingers near her ear as they passed, knowing that was the only cue she’d get. Joan waited until they’d left the pub before she stood up and followed them out silently, her hand on the gun in her pocket.

 

The pair in front of her were talking about something she couldn’t hear until they fell as silent as the empty street. It was so sudden that Joan barely had the time to react when the guy shoved Sherlock into an alleyway.

 

Sherlock’s sudden gasp quickly snapped her out of it and she picked up the pace of her footsteps to round the corner, seeing Sherlock shoved up against the wall, the stranger’s knee nudging his crotch in a way that Joan knew disgusted Sherlock. 

 

Joan shouted incoherently after the first of Sherlock’s struggles, seeing him grimace in pain and discomfort. Joan’s gun was raised, pointed directly at the older man’s head. He paled of all color and suddenly Sherlock was released while he stepped back, hands raised.

 

Joan barked at him to get on his knees and slide the weapon to her. She narrowed her eyes and put her foot on top of it while he trembled beneath the point of her gun. Holmes dialed Lestrade, and he and Sally came with a few other officers five minutes later. Joan could finally relax. She put away her gun and explained to Greg what happened, all the while feeling a sense of pride in her chest. Sherlock had gone through all of this to take the case and to please her. Sherlock appeared behind her moments later, his face steely and serious again. 

 

Greg smiled at them both before he bid them a good night and went off to apprehend the suspect. Joan felt her own smile curl her lips as he nudged Sherlock’s side gently, nodding her head back towards the street.

 

“Head home?” She hummed.

 

Sherlock merely nodded and turned to walk back towards the main road and get a cab for the two of them. 

 

It was only when they’d rounded the corner on their trek to the road that Joan took Sherlock’s arm to stop him. When he turned to question her, she leaned up to kiss his cheek softly. 

 

“Thanks. Really, Sherlock.” She said softly, her eyes unable to show anything but honesty as she slowly released him,”I'm proud of you,”

 

Sherlock was silent, his lips parted as though he wanted to say something. He moved then, his arm wrapping around her waist to press a hand to the small of her back and pull her closer, while his other hand tilted up her chin. Joan pulled in a small breath in surprise, her face tinted pink. She couldn’t speak as Sherlock’s lips trapped her own in a surprisingly soft, warm kiss.

  
  


In more ways than Joan could describe, Sherlock was absolutely, without a doubt, overwhelming. There was little to no other words that could describe his entirety so accurately. Like him, hate him, or wish he were dead- The word prevails through all feelings for Sherlock Holmes. Joan hadn’t known being overwhelmed to feel so good until this moment.

 

Sherlock’s hand braced behind her back, slender fingers outstretched to pull her in flush against his own chest. Joan revelled in the comfort that the pressure gave her, wanting to melt in his grasp and let herself fade. It was easy to want these things, it seemed that fading into everything Sherlock was came so naturally that Joan had to fight that urge to submit to it every single day. Now, she let that guard down and allowed herself a moment of vulnerability.

 

Joan leaned into the kiss, her left hand finding his shoulder and her right resting on his waist. As soon as she pressed in, Sherlock seemed to hold her even closer, as if she would change her mind and leave. She twisted her fingers into the fabric of his coat in an unspoken assurance of  _ I’m here. _ Joan took a deep breath through her nose. She caught the smell of Sherlock’s coat, an intermingled off-putting smell of one part bleach, two parts fabric softener, and five parts something that was just unmistakably Sherlock. His hair still smelled of touches of cigarettes and… coconut? Was he really using her shampoo?

 

The giggle that bubbled up from her chest was involuntary and she pulled back from his lips and turned her head.

 

“I didn’t realize this was a comedy act, Johanna,” Sherlock said in a sulking tone.

 

Joan shook her head,”No! Not that,” She chuckled,”Are you using my shampoo in the shower?”

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes,”Is personal hygiene suddenly amusing?”

 

Joan smiled and giggled again,”No, you ninny. Just a little joke for me,”

 

“You do astound me with your antics some days, Joan,” 

 

Joan grinned,“Shut up and kiss me again,”

 

Sherlock’s lips turned into a smirk, and he happily leaned down to press another kiss to her lips.

 

“ _ Sherlock? _ ”

 

Sherlock’s hands fell from her sides, and he took a quick step back away from her. The kiss that was meant to be dissipated into the air, lost but certainly not forgotten. Joan pulled her hands into her coat pockets, responding to the shout for Sherlock’s name just like he had. If Sherlock didn’t want to be seen yet, neither did she. It was an understandable request.

 

“Sherlock, we may have a problem,” Greg said as he turned the corner, studying them both with hopeful eyes,”The guy is dead. Someone shot him as we were taking him to the car,”

 

Sherlock scowled,”Silenced shot?

 

“Quiet as a mouse,”

 

Sherlock glanced around to the chattering officers and gathering crowd around the corner, also talking,”So many people talking, no one heard it,”

 

Joan walked past Sherlock to Greg’s side,”Someone wanted him quiet,”

 

“A weak link,” Sherlock frowned, stalking back to the alley,”Somebody wanted this done better,”

 

Joan felt something sink in her stomach,”What is this?”

 

Sherlock knelt next to the body and followed the angle of the bullet to a roof nearby,”It means we have a partner,"

Joan grimaced,"Grand,"

 


End file.
